George Washington, after the Battle of Monongahela
Rhys walked away from the Day’s Bridge Tavern once he’d checked the post. Exhaling a frosty breath, he looked toward the frozen Passaic. Children and adults hugged the river’s edges on both sides, undeterred by the cold, their happy chatter and laughter welcome after so many military matters.
“Afternoon, sir,” an elderly gentleman said in passing, touching the brim of his hat.
Belatedly, Rhys raised a hand to his own hat in return. He’d never been so ... distracted. Miss Mae Bohannon had a great many charms—and they’d never been so apparent as on ice.
Unaware of him, she cut a comely figure in her fluttering crimson cape as she circled midriver and made figure eights. Her mittened hands were outstretched as if to maintain her balance, and she wore the Franklin fur hat. He slowed to a complete stop along the ice-encrusted bank. Not too near as to draw attention to his gawking at her but near enough to admire her more closely. She was as adept a skater as she was a rider.
A young girl skated after her in mimicry. When she fell down, Mae hurried to her side and helped her stand again before flying away farther downriver. He’d never tried ice-skating, but she made him want to. A few other villagers had strapped blades to their boots, but none of them had her grace or speed. She skated out of rifle range and he chafed.
Which would never do.
Now February, he’d been with the Bohannons a month. His adjutant’s sister was making inroads into his heart like he and his Rifle Corps made inroads into the backcountry. But there was simply no place for a woman in his life, wedded to war as he was. His head accepted the fact even as all the rest of him craved more. And it seemed she felt that same irresistible pull. He sensed it every time she looked at him or spoke to him. When she’d touched his arm he felt lightning-struck. She’d earned the distinction of being the first to have that sort of hold on him.
Did she not understand all that was at stake?
He was the worst sort of suitor. The British hated his kind. Feared them for fighting like Indians with an utter disregard for military conduct. As an officer, he was a sought-after target, not just a marksman but a marked man. A man who might well not return once the fighting was done. Some women, looking for a short-lived affair, wouldn’t care.
But Maebel Bohannon wasn’t that sort of woman.
He climbed the steps to the Bohannon home, and his knock brought Mrs. Hurst. She led him to the parlor, where a robust fire chased the chill from the room. Unlike some who billeted soldiers, she showed no displeasure at his presence.
“I’ll bring you a toddy, General.” She smiled, her spiderweb of wrinkles softening. “Surely that will warm you better than the hearth.”
He thanked her heartily. Patriot to the bone, he’d wager.
Steaming toddy brought, she returned to the kitchen while he prowled the parlor, wondering when Mae would return. Coralie herarely wondered about. She was mostly inward and absent. When he came round, she seemed inclined to go elsewhere.
He traded the window for a wall, drawn to a black-cut shadow portrait. Encased in an oval gilt frame, it bore a startling likeness to the woman who rarely left his head. He was still standing there when the front door opened and shut, Mae’s voice carrying across the hall. Feeling he’d won some sort of victory, he waited for her to join him. Did his pleasure at seeing her show? He tamped it down as hard as the ball in his rifle’s barrel when reloading.
Her lively eyes danced. “General Harlow, are you all alone?”
“Not anymore.”
She smiled, removed her wraps, and hung them on a peg in the hall. The sharpness of wind and weather called out her lovely features, her cheeks apple red. He felt quite undone as she came nearer, only the two of them in the room.
She eyed his mug as she held her hands out to the fire. “I’m glad Mrs. Hurst gave you something warm to drink.”
“You’re more in need of it than I am, being on the ice.”
Surprise shone in her eyes. “You saw me on the river.”
“I did.”
“Have you ever skated?”
“Virginia’s waters rarely freeze.”
“I sometimes forget where you’re from. A brighter, milder place. I’ve heard the southern colonies are beautiful.”
“The Shenandoah especially.”
Mrs. Hurst appeared with another toddy. Taking hers with thanks, Mae seemed not to mind when the housekeeper closed the parlor door. To keep in the heat? These northerners constantly battled the cold.
He stood to one side of the hearth while his whole being urged him otherwise.Flee, man.But if he made no promises, formed no attachments, what would a little tarrying hurt?
She looked up at him, a question in her eyes. “I suppose I should ask you where James and the captain are.”
